


Time to Wake the Dragons

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrion ponders how the remaining Lannisters have all come to be maimed and stuck at the Wall. A silly bit of fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time to Wake the Dragons

The smells wafting from the ShieldhalI were the only way to tell what time it was at Castle Black, since the sun had not risen in nearly a full moon. It must be evening because there was a vague suggestion of horsemeat amidst the strong scent of onions and root vegetables. A vague suggestion of eggs with the vegetables would mean it was morning.

Tyrion was beginning to hate onions. He missed the casual opulence of meals in the Red Keep, or even the rations the Yunkish slavers had given him.

He stretched as he walked through the crowded hall, joints clicking and popping. His small frame was not built for long walks, and for Tyrion even climbing the stairs and ladders of Castle Black was a chore after enough hours without sleep.

“Brother, come sit with me. It’s been days.” Tyrion looked up and found Jaime sitting alone with a bowl of the thin stew in front of him. He made his way over to Jaime, noting with dismay how long the line for food had already gotten. At this rate he’d be lucky if there was anything left for him.

Jaime, as usual, looked irritatingly good. _My brother loses a hand and he still looks like the Warrior come to life. Meanwhile I lose my nose and become even more of a gargoyle._ Jaime’s golden hair was cropped short and his beard was beginning to gray, but his green eyes were bright, his smile easy. “No food yet? The wench is still in line, I’ll get her to bring you some.”

“That would be appreciated,” Tyrion admitted, sitting down across from his brother.

Jaime stood up and shouted across the hall. “Wife, fetch the Lord of Winterfell some dinner, would you?”

Close to the front of the line, Brienne turned to glare at her husband. Taller than Jaime, clad in chainmail just like the men, her cheek marred by a large scar, Brienne was easy to find even at this distance. When she spotted Tyrion, Brienne flashed him a quick smile and nod.

The few women here were mostly spearwives, and several of the Wildling men had tried to steal the Lady of Tarth when she first arrived at the Wall. They’d gotten broken bones and bruises for their trouble, but Jaime still made a point of reminding the men that she belonged to their commander.

“You’re going to pay for that later, Jaime.”

“Assuming we don’t all die tonight, I look forward to it.” Jaime grinned, eating a thin spoonful of stew. “Gods, this is terrible. It’s lucky we’re all too hungry to complain much.”

“Why don’t you try telling the Others politely to go home? The dragons, bonfires, and dragonglass don’t seem to be convincing them.”

“Good to see your sense of humor has survived unscathed, Tyrion.”

Just then Brienne walked up and set down two bowls. Tyrion eyed his with suspicion while Brienne took a seat beside Jaime.

“Wench,” Jaime greeted her with a quick kiss.

“Jaime,” Brienne replied pointedly.

“Stop being so disgustingly happy, if you don’t mind. It makes those of us in loveless political unions feel inferior.” While Tyrion and Sansa were still married, they both knew it wouldn’t last. If he survived the war, the Queen would ask the High Septon to dissolve the marriage at their request. In the meantime Jaime delighted in teasing him about it, so Tyrion returned the favor as often as he could.

“Can we be less happy?” Jaime asked his wife.

Brienne shrugged. “I’ll work on that.”

Tyrion ate a few spoonfuls of stew and sat back. He eyed his brother and good-sister. “You know, between the three of us we’re missing a hand, a nose, and two cheeks if you count my slave brand. Myrcella is missing an ear and yet another cheek. What does it say about our family that the only ones left are all maimed?”

“We survived?” Jaime suggested. “Perhaps we should branch out. Where are Loras and Clegane? They’d fit right in.”

“You should talk to Sandor,” Brienne pointed out. “He came in from Winterfell this morning.”

Tyrion waved off her suggestion. “Lord Snow will talk to him.” Tyrion did not like how close his wife and her sworn sword had become. Clegane was a brutal man when Tyrion knew him in King’s Landing. Sansa had a will of iron, but she was still a young girl and he felt protective of her as he always had.

A new group of soldiers, clearly just finishing their watch based on the frost on their clothes and their cold-reddened cheeks, came into the hall. “Loras,” Brienne called, waving the young man over.

Tyrion had not seen Ser Loras Tyrell, the beautiful young Knight of Flowers, since he suffered burns in the siege of Dragonstone. His neck, around his mouth, and a large area of one cheek were covered in red, ropy scars. His curly brown hair was untouched, but like Jaime he’d cut it short. There was no time for vanity at the Wall.

Loras left the men he’d arrived with, some of them Lord Stannis’s men that he’d fought against at Dragonstone and before that at the Blackwater, and came to sit with them. The war had broken down many of the old enmities and grudges between houses by necessity. Tyrion had even spotted Brackens and Blackwoods eating together one night.

Loras stopped beside Brienne. “Lady Brienne, Lord Jaime, Lord Tyrion,” he greeted them, courteous even here where it mattered little.

“We’ve decided to make you an honorary member of the family, Ser Loras,” Tyrion informed him cheerily. “Your sister did marry Lannisters twice, after all.”

Loras’ discomfort was obvious, and he was struggling to formulate a polite response when Brienne took pity on him. “It’s not so bad, I promise. Come sit and eat. The stew is hot, at least.”

Brienne certainly seemed happy enough to Tyrion. He’d been surprised and suspicious of Jaime’s motives when he first heard of their marriage, but they seemed to genuinely love each other. Jaime was a better man for it, which was good because otherwise the Queen had been rather determined to separate him from his head. The war was killing enough men, good and bad, that Tyrion had convinced her to wait until spring to make any decisions about her enemies. Lord Stannis and Jaime were at the top of that list.

One long horn blast sounded outside. The hall immediately fell silent. _Rangers returning._ Jaime and Brienne both started shoveling the rest of their food into their mouths.

A second blast. _Attack coming._

Jaime and Brienne stood and embraced quickly. “Try not to die,” Jaime told her.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she replied. They headed off in opposite directions.

Loras reluctantly sat down across from Tyrion. The boy looked like he was about to drop from exhaustion.

A third blast. _The Others._

Tyrion stood and pushed his mostly uneaten bowl across to Loras. “Eat. You look like you could use it.”  

He pushed through the crowds of men, young and old. Some were headed in to eat, others out to fight.

Tyrion wouldn’t be standing on the Wall tonight. It was time to wake the dragons.


End file.
